


When I'm With You

by alexenglish



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Play, Collars, Dom/sub Play, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light BDSM, Soft Dom Scott McCall, Sub Lydia Martin, kitten play, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 20:47:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6581533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexenglish/pseuds/alexenglish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia just wants to be good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I'm With You

**Author's Note:**

> for day one of lydia martin rarepair week. unbeta'd, kitty!Lydia. pretty lowkey and soft. enjoy.

“‘Take the promotion,’ they said. ‘It'll be fine,’ they said.”

Lydia resists the urge to slam her head into the steering wheel. Instead she accelerates and slides past the car in front of her. She genuinely doesn't understand people who go the speed limit. Especially not _today_. It’s Friday, time to be _home_. All she wants is a few hours to relax before having to think about all the projects she’s behind on.

The base of her neck is aching with tension, shoulders drawing up, tight and uncomfortable. The last couple of weeks have been a constant migraine. With the promotion on top of her classes, she's scrambling to meet deadlines. She had to talk to one of her professors about an _extension_. 

Lydia Martin doesn't _need_ paper extensions.

“Goddamn cock sucker,” she shouts, as a car swoops into her lane, making her brake quickly. She resists the urge to accelerate and ride the bumper. Just because she's in a coup, doesn't mean she won't fuck someone up for shitty driving. She can afford the ticket. 

Fridays are supposed to be happy days. The end of the week is supposed to be stress free. 

It’s not. Her mind is full of every deadline and due date until the end of the month. How much time does she need to dedicate to which obligation this weekend? There’s a flowchart on her refrigerator to help with scheduling, but her thoughts are bubbling over anyway, dissolving into white noise the more frustrated she gets.

The thing is, she didn’t used to be like this. She didn’t need to color code every class and assignment, she didn’t need a planner with every appointment and commitment written in. It was easy to stay on top of things. Now, she’s so busy that she can barely think straight. 

She doesn’t want to think at all. 

She makes the car call Scott. 

“Hey,” he says. The sound of his voice takes the edge off. A little. “What’s up?”

“Do you want to come over?” Lydia asks, unable to keep her voice from sounding like a plead. It’s hard to breathe. She doesn’t want him to say no. She really, really doesn’t want him to say no. 

“Right now?” he asks. She can hear his concerned frown. The knot in her chest tightens anxiously. “I thought you weren’t feeling well?”

“I’m not,” Lydia admits. They were supposed to go to the movies today. For a date. And she bailed on him at the last minute because she couldn’t sit in the dark surrounded by people. Luckily, Scott is sweet and understanding and she probably doesn’t deserve someone as gracious as he is. “I need to get out of my head.”

“Okay, I’ll come over,” Scott agree, readily. Lydia feels like sobbing. Happy sobbing. “I’ll meet you there?”

“Yeah,” she says, exhaling heavily. He can hear her, but she doesn’t care if she comes off as desperate or needy. She will probably explode if she doesn’t get to see him. “The spare key is taped under the mailbox, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Walking through the door such a relief, her knees almost buckle. The door swings shut, blocks the world out. She can finally fucking _breathe_. The house smells like cooked peppers and onion; she can hear the sizzle from the kitchen in the entryway as she peels off her heels. The world gets bigger when her feet are flat, but it’s another layer of stress she gets to shed. 

Everything hurts when she has to wear heels all day. She always wears heels all day. 

Scott’s cooking barefoot, stirring the contents of a cast iron pot. He’s in a forest green button up with the sleeves rolled past his elbows. Something in her chest shakes loose as she watches him quietly, admiring the way he fills up the space in her kitchen. It’s not only his broad shoulders, but his presence. Everything about him makes her feel soft, safe. 

She tiptoes over, pressing her forehead to the middle of his back.

“Hey,” he says, quietly. He keeps stirring. 

“Hey,” she says, pressing her forehead more firmly into his back. 

“What’s up?” he asks. Calm and patient, waiting for her to give him his cue. 

“Had a shit day,” she admits. There’s a tight feeling behind her eyes. She’s been doing so well all day; compartmentalizing every single thing that went wrong, every frustration. She shoved it all down so she could function, but now she wants to cry. She hates feeling like this. “Can we play?”

She scoots back when he puts down the spatula, giving him space to turn. The look in his eyes is so sweet, her whole spine turns to jelly. 

“Of course, kitten,” he says, with a smile. 

That’s all she needs. One word. 

The world gets fuzzy, lighter. She can manage a smile for the first time in hours. 

“You want to take a bath or a shower?” he asks. 

“Shower,” she says. She didn’t think of it, but getting clean would help. Hot water melting away the stress of the week, the way she feels gross and tense. She wraps her arms around his waist to hug him tightly, gratefully. Baths are her favorite option, because there are bubbles and bath bombs, but she doesn’t want to make him wait. The sooner they eat, the sooner she gets her collar. The sooner she gets her collar, the sooner she can stop thinking completely. 

“Okay, I’ll finish up,” he says. His voice is so warm and low. “Shower and get comfy.”

“Yes, sir,” she says, teasingly. 

Normally, she doesn’t like being told what to do, even if it will make her feel good. Even if she needs it. Not being able to make decisions freaks her out in a way that she can’t articulate. She doesn’t like feeling out of control; she needs to know what’s happening at all times, for her own peace of mind. It’s not about controlling what happens next, it’s simply about knowing what’s coming. If someone else tries to dictate that for her, it’s frustrating. 

It’s different with Scott. Everything is different with Scott. She doesn’t mind when he makes suggests, tells her what to do. She welcomes it, she’ll give up any moniker of control as long as he praises her for it. There’s something about Scott that makes her feel steady, held up. She can let go completely with him and trust that it won’t end badly. 

That’s a big deal for her. Probably for Scott, too. If she told him. Which she wouldn’t do, unless he explicitly asked her to. The way she feels around him is already too vulnerable. Admitting her feelings would be entirely too overwhelming. 

So, she doesn’t bother. Knowing him, he already has an inclination; he’s perceptive like that. 

She takes off her makeup, showers, and shaves. She blow dries her hair, sloppy and quick, so that it’s not damp. It goes up into a messy bun immediately. She doesn’t care, Scott doesn’t care. She doesn’t have to be perfectly groomed in the safety of her home. No mascara, no high heels, no pressure to be flawless. 

Just her. 

Usually she tries to doll up a little bit for him. Light mascara, lip gloss. She’ll slip on lingerie or a pretty dress, something extra. There’s always an appreciative look on his face when he sees her in something lacy, but today she doesn’t have the energy. 

Instead, she drags a cozy sweater over her head. It’s old, worn thin and soft, hanging off her shoulder. She slips into a pair of tight briefs. Hopefully, Scott’s okay with it. She doesn’t think he’ll disapprove, but when they’re playing, she wants to make sure she’s good; that everything she does is something that he likes. It makes her feel good. 

When she finally gets back to the front room, the table is set, food waiting for her. Italian sausage and peppers and potatoes. Scott even got her a glass of milk. 

“Cute,” she says, wrinkling her nose. It’s kind of cute. In a really dorky way. The grin he gives her is blinding, so she’ll excuse him. They eat in silence. She feels terrible that she can’t find it in her to ask him about his day; demanding that he come over and not making an effort when she’s so damn drained. Her brain barely works. 

When dinner is over, Scott gets up first. Lydia’s too tired to pay attention, pushing around the food on her plate after she’s full. Or sort of full. She doesn’t eat much of anything when she’s stress. 

The weight of the collar dropping around her neck snaps her out of it. She tips her head back to see Scott standing over her with a soft smile. It’s nice that she doesn’t have to announce she’s finished, he just knows. 

“Tight or loose, baby?” he asks, nudging her head forward. She lets it fall, waiting patiently as he brushes her hair off her neck and slides the strap through the buckle. 

“Tight, please,” she says, wanting to feel it. The tiny contact points of his fingers on her skin is making everything fizzle. It feels so good when he touches her; casually, deliberately, it doesn’t matter. 

Scott hums and buckles the collar, fingers playing along the back of her neck before cupping around the front of it lightly. The weight of the collar and his touch at her throat makes the base of her skull tingle. The light feeling is back. She wants to purr. 

“God, you look so gorgeous,” he says, coming in front of her, tugging the o-ring at the front of the collar. Lydia sits up straighter, heart pounding. Her head is fuzzy from the praise, overly pleased with herself. “Want to go to the bedroom?” 

She nods at him, unable to form words when she looks at him. He’s so sturdy, so stable. She trusts him so much. He holds out his hand to her and she takes it, following as he pulls her up.

They go to her room, fingers laced the whole time. If they weren’t touching, she doesn’t know if she’d be able to steady herself. All she can feel is the collar against her skin, his palm kissing hers. The bed is big and inviting, it makes her squirm inside her skin. Everything’s laid out on top of the comforter: her tail, ears, a couple of toys if Scott wants to use them. 

“The Notebook’s already in the DVD player, so we’ll watch that,” Scott says, turning on the TV. He doesn’t let go of her hand as he moves around. He grabs the remotes, puts them by the bed. He grabs her ears, slips them on her head. The weight of the headband settles her whole body. Her tongue is too thick for words, so she rubs her head against his shoulder to show her appreciation. He presses a kiss to the top of her head as a reward, making Lydia’s stomach flutter. It’s good. It’s so good.

They settle in together, Lydia between Scott’s legs, leaning back against him. The Notebook starts, but she’s not watching, not really. Scott’s petting between her ears gently. Her whole skull tingles. Everything is warmth and comfort as she sinks down. 

He keeps touching her, all over. It’s easy to let the sensations take over everything else. His fingers skate over her neck, her collarbones, tracing nonsensical patterns on her skin. The stretched neck of her sweater gives him space to touch her chest; he drags his nails over her nipples, making her whimper. 

It’s a challenge to stay still, but he hasn’t said anything, so she doesn’t know how demanding she’s allowed to be. This isn’t the ‘bratty Lydia gets tossed around and held down if she wants to get fucked’ type of play, this is the ‘so tender Lydia feels like she’s going to crawl out of her skin’ type of play. This type of play makes her wants to be good, so she doesn’t disappoint Scott. 

She never wants to disappoint Scott. 

The next pass over her nipple is rougher, a little pinch. A squeak escapes her as she jumps from surprise. Scott does it again, harder. She groans. 

“You don’t have to be quiet, kitten,” Scott says, low in her ear. Lydia groans louder as he rakes his nails up her tit, to her collarbone. She’s arched off the bed, trying to chase the sensation. The arousal has been burning so low, she barely noticed how much she’s aching. She wants him to touch her; wants his mouth or his cock. Oh god. She leans back, wiggling against him. 

He’s being so patient with her, she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

He knows, because he always knows. His hands are big on her thighs as he moves, her pushing down against the pillows so she’s lying flat. She sends a wistful look to her tail, but complies, waiting. She can wait. He’s watching her, like he knows what she’s thinking, but doesn’t offer an explanation. 

He climbs on top of her, settling his weight over her. His jeans are rough against the tops of her thighs. She’s so small under him, she always has been. Like this, it feels like she’s even more delicate. But he wouldn’t hurt her. His hands are so gentle as he steers her into a kiss. 

Every point of contact is electric. She didn’t realize how wound up she was until the tension melts away as he kisses her, slowly at first. So patient and deliberate. It makes her squirm. She wants him to speed up, be a little rougher, but it’s so slow. She’s sinking into him, molding against him, whole body tingling.

A whimper escapes her when he pulls away, but he doesn’t go far, nosing at her jaw and her neck, nudging the collar. She whimpers when it shifts, for no reason. 

His hands trail her legs as he kisses her shoulder where the sweater’s slipped down. She knows she’s supposed to be still, be good. It’s so hard when he’s touching her, teasing her. He presses kisses to her stomach, her hips. He licks her over her briefs, the obvious bump of her swollen clit. She makes a pitiful noise, hips thrusting up. He pins her hips down with a hand, giving her a look that makes her shrink. 

“You’re not supposed to move, baby girl,” he says, softly. It’s not harsh, he’s not mad, but Lydia feels the shame in her chest anyway. Of course, he can tell. He leans up and gives her a kiss, to let her know it’s okay. He rubs over her clit through her underwear, to tease her.

It’s so hard not to move again, especially since he’s not pinning her down. She wants more friction, wants him to peel off her briefs and touch her. It’s hard to formulate words when she’s like this. Floating and foggy and oh so good. 

“I was going to eat you out,” he says, pulling back. “But I think you should wait, now.” He presses a kiss to her nose. It barely keeps her heart from sinking. He presses kisses to her thighs and stomach liberally when he pulls off her briefs, but he leaves her aching everywhere else.

“We can put your tail in,” he says. She wants to sob in relief. He isn’t mad, she gets her tail. She tries not to seem to eager as they flip again. It’s so much back and forth, she just wants to be settled, wants his hands on her. Waiting sucks.

He drags the lube closer, uncaps it and leaves it next to them. All of her muscles tense in excitement, she nuzzles against his face, wanting. He laughs and grips her thighs, nails biting into her skin, making her arch and whimper. Every movement makes his jeans drag roughly over her skin as she straddles him. She’s so, so sensitive. They kiss, dirty and needy, her hands in his hair, one of his arms circling her waist while his free hand trails over her skin. Every atom in her body is vibrating with excitement. 

Scott lets her grind on his thigh as he fingers her open, wrapping his arm around her waist and teasing down her from behind. She’s so over sensitive, the first touch of his lube slicked finger at her entrance makes her jerk, moaning higher than she means to, needy. 

“You’re so good for me,” he says, voice rough. Lydia’s back arches for him instinctively. She wants to be so good. She wants him to be so proud of her.

Her body opens up for the first finger easily, then the second. The tail is one of her favorites to wear around, her body knows what she needs, what Scott can do for her. He takes his time fucking his fingers in and out of her before slipping her tail in. The plug presses on her insides sweetly, making her clench down, body thrumming.

It’s a slow burning arousal, her whole body pulses with her heart, waiting for him to continue. She might be trembling, but she can’t tell. With the tail in, she’s basically gone. Floating. Wrapped in a blanket of white noise, soft and gentle. 

She purrs. 

Scott presses kisses to her lips softly, licking into her mouth, making her melt. She grips his shoulders, nails digging in, rolling her hips against his thigh. He humors her for a minute, tugging on her tail lightly so she makes an indignant noise, but grinds down harder. 

“Let me wash my hands,” he says, pulling away and kissing her forehead. There’s a flush on his face, lips swollen and red. She did that. She’s so proud of herself. Thinking about that takes the edge off waiting for him to come back. She kind of hates when he gets up, when he’s not next her. It makes her feel cold, uncertain. Too vulnerable.

When he comes back, she chirps at him without thinking about it, happy to see him. It’s only been a minute, but she can’t help herself. He grins, leaning down so she can rub their faces together and give his top lip a tiny lick. 

When he’s on the bed again, he drags her back on top of him, maneuvering her so that she’s holding herself up. He doesn’t waste time, kisses her slickly. Everything is faster now. More urgent. Scott’s mouth, his hands on her.

She tries to keep up, mouth chasing his when he teases her. All of her focus is on his lips, his tongue, the way he’s kissing her, she hardly notices when he pulls her flush against him and sinks his fingers into her. She’s so wet, she can feel her slick gush as he starts to move his hand. Her thighs are shaking as she holds herself up, trying to keep still. 

There are whimpers spilling from her throat, she can't seem to swallow them down. Scott’s face is pressed against her neck, tongue wetting the skin below her collar. Every pass of his hand nudges against her tail. She can’t stop trembling. She wants his cock inside of her. 

She rolls her hips, trying to give him a hint. If she opens her mouth, she’s going to meow desperately, and she hates that. When she starts, she can’t stop. The idea makes her feel hot, embarrassed. She hates it, but it happens anyway. 

Scott adds another finger and Lydia can’t _stand_ it, she can barely hold still. If he doesn’t change something, she’s going to bounce on his fingers and ruin everything. She buries her face in his shoulder and starts making noises, softly at first, then louder when he starts picking up the pace to torture her. 

Lydia meows pitifully, trying to be good, trying not to move. It’s so hard to focus. All she wants to do is squirm. She wants to come so badly. She’s gasping into his shoulder, cotton caught in her mouth, hands gripping the front of his shirt to anchor herself.

“You’re being so good, kitten,” Scott says, voice cutting through the fog. She answers with a desperate meow. “You should come, baby.”

She does. 

She rolls her hips, muscles clenching down on his fingers as he curls them against her g-spot and thumbs over her clit. Her orgasm ripples through her, making her sob against his shoulder. His hand is still moving, chasing a second orgasm. She doesn’t have it in her to move, so she lets him wind her up again.

Everything is so soft around the edges. She feels so good.

“I want to get my cock in you,” Scott says, panting against her mouth. She rubs their faces together again, nodding, collecting enough brain cells to make her voice work.

“Please, sir,” she says, breathy and high and needy. She needed to say it. He’s her sir, he’s _hers_. 

“ _Kitten_ ,” Scott groans, kissing her again. She barely registers being lifted. The sound of his zipper snaps her out of it. She watches him take his dick out of his pants, barely shoving his jeans down to the tops of his thighs. 

There’s come all over the front of them from Lydia rubbing herself all over him. 

She meows once and lifts up on her thighs, too impatient to wait. He doesn’t say anything, so she figures it’s okay. The blunt pressure of his dick against her cunt makes her keen. She sinks down on him, letting him fill her up. 

Everything feels perfect. The drag of his cock inside of her is perfect. She feels so full, trapped between his dick and the tail. She’s been floating away, but like this, the disconnect is so intense. There’s nothing in her head, no thoughts chasing each other around. There’s Scott, gripping her ass as she bounces on his cock. That’s it. 

Him and her. 

She feels so good all over. There’s a tugging sensation at the bottom of her stomach, like she’s coming, but she doesn’t know if she is, or if she has, or if she will. Her whole body is lit up, hot and sensitive. 

Scott starts touching her all over. He tugs the collar so that it presses sweetly against the front of her neck. He drags his hands over her thighs, nails biting into her skin; shoves her shirt up and sucks a nipple into his mouth, biting down so hard she meows at him, annoyed. He does it again, harder, and that shuts her up, makes her focus on the movement of her hips. 

It’s taking him so long to come. Or maybe it hasn’t been that long. Maybe she only just started moving. She doesn’t know. 

He kneads her tits, tugs on her nipples, slots his nails along her ribs and scratches her. He grips her back, her ass. He pulls on her tail, making her whimper. Pushes it back in on an upthrust. Their thighs slap wetly together. She must have come again. There’s slick soaking the sheets under them, sticky on the skin between them. 

“Hold on,” Scott says. She stills, waiting as he pushes his jeans off and frees his legs. His arm tightens around her waist, flipping them over. She lands on her back with an indignant meow, but they don’t disconnect. He thrusts into her smoothly, making her gasp. 

“I’m gunna come soon,” he says. They’re both sweaty, covered in slick. Scott’s beautiful, looking down on her with his bright eyes, hair plastered to his forehead. Lydia bites her lip, not knowing how to ask for what she wants. She wants to come. She wants to come so badly, but she can’t find the words to ask.

“Touch yourself,” he says, reading her mind. She groans in relief, hand finding her clit, circling quickly. The touch makes her arch, she can feel the orgasm at the bottom of her belly. She’s so sensitive, she can barely stand to touch herself, but she wants to come with Scott inside of her. 

She knows he’s getting closer when he starts thrusting harder, deeper; she speeds up her hand, trying to matching him. He presses closer, covering her body with his, pressing their chests together. It traps her hand, so she grinds up against her fingers, chasing the orgasm. 

Scott grips her hair in his hands and thrusts deep, gasping out a wet “ _fuck_ ,” as he comes. Lydia doesn’t let him ride it out, she nuzzles their faces together, getting his attention. He pulls back, frowning, then looks at her hand, where it’s still pressing against her clit. 

“Shit, sorry, kitten,” he says, pressing a kiss to her mouth before slinking down her body and burying his tongue in her. She should expect it, but it still shocks her when he licks her open enthusiastically. His tongue laps over her, she can’t keep herself from arching against his face, trying to get more friction. He sinks two fingers into her and sucks on her clit, finger fucking her so hard and fast her body barely has time to register it before she’s coming so hard her vision whites out. 

There’s a beat where he lets her ride it out, before he climbs over her and gathers her in his arms. She’s shaking so hard, she can’t stop herself, mewls spilling out of her throat. He holds her tight, strokes her hair. 

“Such a good girl,” he says, soft and low and sweet. “So good for me, kitten.” 

They stay tangled together. She can keep herself from rubbing her face against his chest, nuzzling him under his chin. She gives him a couple of licks where she can reach, demanding kisses; he’s gracious enough to comply, kissing her deeply. 

The world is still soft, fuzzy around the edges, but Lydia knows she’s safe with Scott. 

She lets everything go.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://queerlyalex.tumblr.com/)


End file.
